


The Network

by KatFow0496



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, The Jim/John is brief, assassin!john
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-04-13 14:40:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 3,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4525911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatFow0496/pseuds/KatFow0496
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So Jim and John met when they were younger. But, John wasn't so nice. It's a little confusing. Sorry, summary's are still not my area.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

John Watson stood at the edge of the water. The seventeen year old boy glared out over the water's horizon at the setting sun. Lost in the torrent of thoughts concerning his mother's death, his step-father's drinking, and his sister. Her drinking, her fighting, her rampaging, her breakdowns, her loss of self.

John started at the sound of another boy's voice saying, "Well, you look like you're about ready to kill someone. Can I help?"

"Why?" John was suspicious of the younger boy. Naturally, it did come as a concern that someone who had to be fifteen had such an interest in murder.

"Because I understand. My name's Jim, Jim Moriarty."

"John, uhm, Watson."

"Lovely to meet you John. So, would you like me to help? I'd rather like to help you, John. You seem so kind."

"So, that's it? You help me. Why? What's in it for you?"

"Ah. Clever boy, knows there's always a cost. I will help you. But, I'd like some help as well. You don't have to though."

After a moment's consideration, John agreed to Jim's help, as well as to help him as payment.


	2. Chapter 2

A week later, John's step-father snapped his neck falling down the stairs to the dingy apartment they lived in. Ruled an accident, John got out of it quickly. He and his sister stayed living in the apartment. But, Jim moved in with them.

A few short days later, Jim's parents were both shot in what was announced to be a robbery gone wrong. At which point Jim, John, and Harriet Watson all moved into Jim's house. No rent. So, all they had to buy was food and clothes.

So began the Moriarty/Watson Network. Using Jim's brains and John's brains and brawn, they quickly earned a name of repute and respect.

The network as a whole had a sort of moral sense about it. John wouldn't let Jim plan the murder of innocent people. But, it was also savagely terrifying. John would, however, kill any who even thought to double cross them without hesitation.

Jim and John quickly became good friends and even lovers. They used the funds from the crimes to pay for their tuition and schooling. John kept Harry safe and hidden away from the crimes, and the things that she wouldn't like.


	3. Chapter 3

"John?" Jim asked in a small voice, as they lie next to each other on Egyptian cotton.

"Yeah, Jimmy? What's wrong?" asks the ever considerate John.

"I was just wondering. Will you leave me?" Jim worried at his lower lip waiting for John's answer.

"My Jimmy, my brilliant Jimmy. I promise you. So long as you remain yourself, and so long as you don't lose yourself in all the crime and the death. Then no. I will never leave you. I'm in love with you, Jimmy. So, please, don't make me leave you, please, Jimmy. Promise me you won't lose yourself. I don’t want to lose you."

"I promise, I love you, John. Always and forever. No matter what." Jim kissed John's forehead, and John nestled his head gently into Jim's neck.


	4. Chapter 4

Such is how The Network went for two and a half years. Until it became a sustainable organization. Until Jim made the biggest mistake of his life and took out a half dozen innocent people. John looked so disappointed at Jim when he found out.

The next day Jim found John packing away his sparse belongings, including his clarinet. which he had never packed. He always kept it out. So that he could play it whenever he liked. Or when Jim was having a nightmare.

Jim was terrified to find out why, but he had to ask. "John, what are you doing?"

"What does it look like, Jimmy?" the twenty year old med student and sharp shooting assassin retorted. "I'm packing."

"Why though?" Jim nearly whispered.

John stopped and turned around to face him. "I'm sorry. But, I promised I would stay with you until you lost yourself in the crime. Jimmy- my Jimmy, do you even know who you are anymore?"

"I sorry, John. I really am. This is why I need you though. Please, John. Please, stay." Jim was begging now, and he knew it, but he didn't care. John was all that mattered to him.

John only smiled sadly and sighed. he turned and put the last of his things into his bag. He didn't have much, and most of what he had was simply useful, except for the platinum dog tag style necklace with their names on them and all of the dates that were significant to the two of them. John lingered on them for a moment before putting them on and tucking them under his jumper.

"John..." Jim's voiced cracked and he felt like he was about to cry.

"Jimmy. This has been coming for a while. I've been watching it happen, but, I've ignored it. But, that is too much. Talk to me again once you have found MY Jimmy. I want him back. I really do. So, until then, Goodbye, Jim."

Before Jim could even think to respond, John was out the door and gone.


	5. Chapter 5

As John worked on soldier after soldier, he briefly registered being shot in his left shoulder, but disregarded it as irrelevant.

When the man who seemed to have shot John tried to shoot an injured soldier, John stood up and turned long enough to spot and shoot the man in the throat, then immediately returned to his patient.

He continued working until backup arrived and he relayed all medical conditions and treatments before finally succumbing to the blood loss.

In all, he saved a dozen people from death after the bullet pierced his shoulder. His reward was a Victoria Cross, and a plane ride home.


	6. Chapter 6

The dingy bedsit that John Watson had come to call home existed largely in beiges and greys. The nightmares that the therapists and psychiatrists warned him of never came for his sleep.

He was bored. He knew he was bored and that was the problem.

He had some options. He could attempt to re-apply for the Army and be denied almost immediately. He could stay in this pathetic excuse for a room until he could no longer afford it, which was fast approaching really.

Or he could find a job. A nice hit would make him feel better, it always did, ever since he had met Jim.

Ah. Now, there was a distraction. Maybe he could find Jim again-no. He couldn't. Not that his Jimmy wouldn't take him back, but that HIS Jimmy was gone. Had been since shortly before he joined the Army.

Okay, so he had one decent option really, it was time to become an assassin.

He picked up Harry's phone and scrolled through the contacts list. He paused over the one that read Jimmy. Well, at least that meant they had managed to keep an eye on each other. He thought briefly about texting Jim, but decided against doing so rather quickly.

Instead, he continued scrolling through the list of names. Quickly finding the name he was looking for and calling it.

"Hey Harry." The girl's voice on the other end said casually. "What's up?"

"Hey Daisy. Not Harry. She just gave me her phone. I just got back." John spoke over the quiet gasp of the girl.

"John? As in, Jim's John? As in, got mad and joined the Army, John?"

"Yes. I'm back now, I was looking for a job, was wondering if you could help me out?"

"Why ask me? Jim could give you way better jobs, better paying too. Oh, I get it. You're still not talking to Jim, are you?"

"No, Daisy, I am not talking to Jim. Can you help me out or not?"

"Yeah, I'll find you something, I'll text it to you. You'll still have Harry's phone?"

"Yeah, I think I will. In the mean time, I'm gonna go looking for a flatshare or something. The Army doesn't really pay well."

"Alright, but John, before you go, why are you still mad at Jim? It's been twelve years now."

"Goodbye Daisy." John spoke and hung up the phone with more force than was strictly necessary, which he was immediately sorry for. He sighed, picked up his cane, and limped out of his dank lodgings.


	7. Chapter 7

It wasn't long before he ran into Mike Stamford, who took him to Bart's to meet a potential flatmate.

The man he met quite reminded him of his Jimmy, the genius he'd fallen in love with. Because of this, John had an affection for the pale man he'd only just met.

Harry's mobile sounded like an explosion on a snowy mountainside when a text came in a moment after Sherlock had dispatched himself to gather his riding crop from the morgue.

=Jack Donald, 37 yrs old, 59 Brixton Rd, suspected of child abuse and neglect-I thought you'd want to know why we need him gone-Daisy=

He smiled at the girl's message and replied a brief thanks for her quick and sound work.

He returned to his own bedroom for the briefcase that held his sniper rifle and the Glock from his desk drawer.

He tucked the Glock into the back of the waist of his jeans, and pulled on his fluffiest and most seemingly innocuous jumper over it to secret away his weapon.

He took the briefcase in his left hand and his cane in his right and he stepped out the door.


	8. Chapter 8

An hour later his target was dead and John was a few grand better off than he had been the day before. Leaving behind only his trademark bullethole in the man's forehead. Exactly the way he had done it 12 years ago, the last time he'd pulled off a hit. 

He'd forgotten the thrill he always felt when he made his kill, when he made the perfect head shot.

He smiled as he walked back into his flat and put the kettle on. He texted a photo of the dead man to Daisy from a burn phone as confirmation of the kill and deleted it immediately after, then destroyed the burner, leaving pieces of it in random bins around London.

He also felt fairly confident that the body wouldn't be found for a couple of days. Which would give him time to have the electronic trail erased.

He sat down with a cup of tea in one hand and another burner in the other. On the burner he called up a number that he had long since memorized. It rang out and came to an automated voicemail. John simply said "Dezzie, it's John." and he hung up and waited.

He didn't have to wait long. His phone rang almost immediately.

"Hey John. How are you? I heard you got shot."

"I got shot, Dez."

"Yeah, but how are you? I just got word that you just finished a hit in couple of hours. You were always so good at it. So, I take it to mean that I'm on electronic clean up duty, yeah? I'm almost done anyway. You were in the pub at the end of your block. I have witnesses, and video feed to back it up. You had a pint and a half before paying off your tab with the credit card that Rosie will be bringing to you shortly. The card's pin is 5267 and it's held with the Bank of England. You made it home twenty minutes ago by taking the most direct route home. Oh, and don't forget that you'll be needing to leave in an hour to meet that Holmes bloke to look at the place. Don't worry, the flat is lovely, and you'd līke the landlady. Martha Louise Hudson. Crazy woman. Former exotic dancer and semi-reformed alcoholic. Uses marijuana as an herbal soother for her bad hip. Her known history with Holmes is that she paid him to ensure her husband's execution when caught on death row for a murder in Florida. Hudson is friends with a Mrs. Turner. They gossip. I'll have the hit order on Hudson and Turner cancelled, I don't think you need a dead landlady."

"Oh, is that all?"

"No, Holmes is a Consulting Detective with New Scotland Yard. He is currently working on that Serial Suicides case. The culprit is a Jeffery Hope. Jim has promised to give money to his kids if he does it. Poor bastard has a brain aneurysm. He'll be dead by the week's end. He's a cabbie, there's no hit out on him. But, I hear that Jim's gonna put something out if he doesn't die within the week. Speaking of hits, there's one on Holmes, okay, there's a couple on him. Shall I delete the files or cancel the hits?"

"Either way you'd like Dez. Thanks for that. As usual, half is yours, I'm sure you can handle getting it. Is there anything else?"

"Yea, Holmes. He has an older brother and they don't get on even remotely well. The older brother, Mycroft Holmes, has a habit of picking up and questioning known associates of Sherlock Holmes'. So, that's going to happen, probably tonight, maybe tomorrow if he's being lazy. Speaking of, his most recent diet attempts have been failing him. He has a weakness for cake. I'd recommend that he just not leave about so many of his cakes and biscuits to tempt him. Or maybe a healthier snack. Anyway, don't spook him. He practically is the British government. His assistant changes her name regularly, making it difficult to figure out. But, she uses Anthea most commonly. Everyone wants the bastard dead, but everyone’s too scared to do so."

"And anyone who isn't, simply doesn't care enough about the bloke to do anything. Alright. Thank you. And until further notice, safeguard Sherlock Holmes and Mrs. Hudson. Do either of them have any family beyond Mycroft?"

"Hudson does not. Holmes has a Grandmother and mother. Shall I include those two?"

"Please do. How long have I got before I have to be off?"

"Five minutes. Bring your Glock. I got you a cab. Not Hope's though."

"Thanks. I'll be off then, Dez. Text me with anything else."

"Buh-Bye Johnny-boy!" The young man, Dez, hung up.

John stood up from his chair and tossed his empty mug in the sink, pulled on his favourite black jacket, and left the flat, cane in hand, but walking. He'd have to fake the limp when he met up with Sherlock.

Stepping out onto the curb, a black taxi cab was waiting for him, as promised. John stepped carefully into the taxi cab and adjusted himself into the seat. "Know the address already?"

"Yes, of course, Mr. Watson. Dez sent me, sir. I'll drop you off at 221B Baker St. Call me when you're ready to be picked up."

"Thank you." John smiled thinly. The rest of the drive was spent in a comfortable quiet with John focused on Sherlock, and Mrs. Hudson. 

John’s silent ponderings were cut off with the young driver’s voice. “Sir, we’ve arrived. Here’s your card, sir. Dezzie said to give you his love.”

“Thanks Rosie, right?”

“Yes, you’re welcome. Call up Dez when you need me again.”

“Mmm, yes, thank you. I will.” John stepped out of the cab and leaned against the waist high, back fence to await Sherlock Holmes’ arrival.


	9. Chapter 9

“Will you come?” The detective inspector called as he burst into the Baker Street flat. Sherlock agreed and asked John to tag along with him. Which was how John ended up examining a clever lady dressed in pink and murdered by his genetic father. 

“What am I doing here?” John couldn’t help asking.

“Helping me prove a point.”

“I’m supposed to be helping you pay the rent.” Not that John really minded, he was rather feeling more useful than he had lately.

“Yeah, but this is more fun.” True as it was, it was still a bit weird.

“Fun? There’s a woman lying dead.”

“Perfectly sound analysis, though I was hoping you’d go deeper.” Lestrade came back into the room and Sherlock shot off his deductions like lightning. Most of which John could have figured out, had he been looking at anything other than Sherlock the entire time. 

Sherlock rushed off shouting “Pink!” Lestrade looked as confused as the rest of the Yarders and John felt a bit sorry for them. After all, he had had his own genius to look after when he was younger. So he offered to sort of translate what Sherlock was off to do. Lestrade agreed, readily. 

“He’s going to go find the woman’s suit case. It won’t be far from here anyway. Statistically, it’s more likely to be a man, and no man can be seen with a bright pink suitcase and not get noticed. So, he’ll be looking for a skip where you can dispose of an overnight suitcase without getting noticed, and it’ll probably be within a 5 minute drive from here. He might be looking for her mobile, might get some leads off of it. He’ll probably have it within the next couple of hours.”

With that said, John left the crime scene ignoring Sargent Donovan’s warnings, and the incessant ringing of telephones all the way until he’d managed getting back to his bedsit and his illegal Browning.


	10. Chapter 10

John's gun was a comfortable weight against his in the awkward pause left by the whole boyfriend/girlfriend conundrum. A moment's pause more and John watched Sherlock as Sherlock watched something in the street.

John decided to take the time to bask in the way the genius' eyes skimmed over the whole scene, only to catch on one thing and hold to whatever it was that had caught it's pointed attention.

But before John could enjoy the sight further, Sherlock began bouncing off so quickly that John had forgotten to keep track of his cane and limp in his rush to follow behind the madman. Off they went, darting through streets and traffic, leaping over buildings, and weaving intricately through streets of London. John was too distracted by the billowing coat in front of him to really catch onto where they had ended up as they halted in front of the cab they had been following.

An insincere greeting to an American and a badge lifted off of a Detective Inspector led to laughter and another chase in the night landing them back in the entry of Baker St. They collapsed into the wall heaving laughter when Angelo knocked on the door, holding John's came out to him.

John had almost panicked at the lapse in his consistency and the idea that he had been discovered. But gentle laughs from the hallway calmed his nerves so he could finally thank Angelo and turn back to Sherlock, landing the boys upstairs and in the middle of a "drugs bust".


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry that this has taken me so long to update. But, here it is. Short, but maybe likable? 
> 
> Thanks for all of your kudos-ing and stuff!!

"You're not surprised?" Lestrade gaped at John's curt nod. John knew what it was to try to handle someone with a brilliant mind such as Sherlock's. Drugs weren't unfathomable, in fact, he's honestly more surprised that Sherlock is clean now. Given his impulse control. 

"Can we move on now?" John returned. "I'm clearly not surprised or dissatisfied, and I'm fairly certain that none of you have caught the murderer yet."

"Quite right, John." Sherlock posited briefly before locating the absent mobile and calling for silence. Mrs.Hudson padded up the stairs announcing the arrival of a cabbie. John tensed. He knew of course that this cabbie was here for Sherlock, and not solely for a nice chat and a spot of tea.

In the confusion that followed Sherlock disappeared for a breath of air and John was nearly ready to shoot Anderson for his excessive stupidity and audacity. Lestrade wearily conceded to call off his drugs bust. John refreshed the tracker to find out where the cabbie had taken his new flatmate. Well, soon-to-be-flatmate, if he's still cool with it after tonight.

The computer buzzed with the new location, some college toward the edges of London proper. John grabs his cane, coat, and gun, and hurried out into the street. Rosie was waiting for him in her cab. He clambered in and told her where she was going. She nodded and sped away.


	12. Chapter 12

John was in such a rush that he practically stumbled out of the cab forgetting his cane in the process. His quick steps brought him to the closest door of the closest building. He tore open the door and took the stairs two at a time. John burst into the main corridor screaming out Sherlock’s name and pounding on the doors like a madman.

When he finally came to a door he could even glimpse Sherlock through, he ran in only to realise that he was in the wrong building; a glance at Sherlock made certain that he knew that there wasn’t enough time to get into the appropriate building. 

John pressed on the window thanking that powers that be that it opened without any more force than a gentle touch. In one swift motion, the Browning hidden under his jumper was drawn, aimed, and fired. 

John dropped to the floor at the same time as Hope did.

John left the college and waited until after the police arrived to make any kind of appearance. And when he did, he let Donovan fill him in on all the most trivial details of the event, even the point of the shooting.He didn’t mention that the man that had been shot- the man he had shot- was his own father. He also resisted correcting a couple of the errors she had made while relating it all to him, but what did he expect of a third party translation?

Sherlock's chatter was hardly idle as he spoke to John, only interrupted by Mycroft's surprise appearance. A short moment later had the pair heading for some Chinese takeaway.


End file.
